Clint Wolf Series Boxed Set 3

by B J Bourg

  “They found Clint’s car, but he’s not with it.” Melvin swallowed the sand in his throat and explained everything he and Dawn had found at the scene. “We’re pretty sure he shot the suspect, but we don’t know what happened afterward.”

  Weaver cut in to describe the suspect’s method of operation that he’d witnessed from years ago. He ended with, “It appears Clint didn’t go peacefully into the night. It looks like he got off some shots. He’s a courageous man and as tough as they come—a real fighter. If anyone can survive this, it’s him.”

  Melvin stole a glance at Susan, but her face was stone cold, revealing nothing. The vehicle suddenly slowed and he jerked his head around. He sucked in a mouthful of air when he saw the rear end of Clint’s Tahoe set deep in a patch of trees along the banks of a muddy bayou. It was a wonder anyone had located it, because the shadows were dark along this stretch of highway and the Tahoe blended with the darkness.

  Dawn parked behind a patrol cruiser and Susan followed suit. Both women met at Clint’s Tahoe and briefly exchanged greetings. Melvin remained back with Weaver while they examined the vehicle. After a few long minutes, Susan waved him over.

  “The hood’s cool, so it’s been sitting here for a while. Can you search the ground for tracks?” she asked when he had walked over. “Detective Luke’s got a K-9 deputy en route, but it’ll be ten minutes before they get here—and we don’t have ten minutes.”

  Melvin nodded his understanding and began conducting a methodical search of the ground cover. He made a wide circle around the area to be searched, trying not to interfere with any scent that might be present. He found a bent blade of grass here, a cracked pine needle there, and a partial footprint in an ant pile, and all of it led to the highway and the direction from which they’d come.

  “It ends right here.” He pointed to the pavement and then to the south. “It looks like he was heading back in that direction.”

  Melvin studied Susan as she processed what he’d just said. There were worry lines on her face, but she seemed determined and focused. Her jaw was set and it appeared she was ready for whatever evil the world might want to throw at her. Seeing the strength and determination in his boss’s eyes—despite what she must be going through inwardly—gave Melvin some hope. He had always looked to Clint for guidance, but what would happen if he was gone? Clint had an uncanny ability to find the clues that helped piece the puzzles together and he always figured out a way to get his suspect—man or woman. Who would fill that void if he never came back? And who would be his friend? Sure, Melvin had other friends, but none as true and loyal as Clint.

  “Are you okay?” Susan asked, cocking her head to the side as she studied Melvin’s face.

  Embarrassed, Melvin only nodded. He should be the one asking her if she was okay. Out in the lawn of that abandoned house earlier, Melvin had felt utterly lost and filled with despair. He knew the skill with which the suspect worked and he knew the odds of getting Clint back alive were next to nil. He had almost lost the energy to continue pressing the fight, but now that Susan was here and he had witnessed her courage, it lit a fire under his ass and he was ready.

  “Holy shit!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Why in the hell haven’t I thought of it earlier?”

  “Thought of what?” Susan asked, her face curious. “What’s going on?”

  Without saying another word, he turned toward Susan’s Tahoe. “Come on, we need to leave here now!” he hollered. “I know where Clint is, and we’re running out of time.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Unknown location…

  “How do you like your meat cooked?”

  I jerked awake at the sound of the gruff voice, then winced inwardly as pain shot through my brain. I tried not to move while I eased my eyes open and peered through tiny slits. For the first time since I’d been taken, a light was on in the dungeon in which I found myself.

  I stopped momentarily to consider that point—I had been taken. I was a victim, a kidnap victim. How on earth had I gotten to this point? I was the person who was supposed to rescue kidnapped victims, not become one. How had this happened?

  I remembered making a phone call and then next thing I knew I was in the clutches of some giant creature, fighting for my life. I felt just like Robinson had looked years ago when he was being carried away like a ragdoll. I remembered getting my hand on my pistol and firing shots just before losing consciousness, but I didn’t know if I hit anything. My next memory was waking up in a dark room, strapped to a cold table. I knew the table was cold because the entire back side of my body was exposed and I could feel the coldness from my heels to my neck. The best I could tell, I was completely naked. I didn’t know why my captor had felt the need to disrobe me, but to say it disturbed me was putting it mildly.

  I had been trying to keep track of time, but it was difficult in the utter darkness of the dank enclosure. I had heard a door open and close earlier, indicating that my captor had left. While he was gone, I struggled to free myself from the chains that bound me, but it had been no use. I wasn’t going anywhere and every time I flexed my right hand excruciating pain shot through my trigger finger. A deep sense of dread crept over me and enveloped my entire being.

  As I had lain there thinking of a way out of my predicament, I had heard what sounded like soft breathing from across the way. I called out several times in the minutes or hours that passed—I wasn’t sure how long it had actually been—and identified myself and asked if anyone was there. No one had spoken.

  Now, I could hear movement from the opposite side of the room and the gruff voice returned, repeating the question. “How do you like your meat cooked?”

  I tilted my head slightly toward the sound and eased my eyes open farther. I sucked in my breath when I took in the scene before me. Lying completely naked on a table parallel to mine and about twenty feet away was a young woman. She had to be in her mid-twenties and, from what I could see of her face, she matched the description of Gloria, the missing girl. Her bare flesh was as white and pure as fleshly driven snow, and goose pimples were plainly visible on her legs and arms. There was a pile of clothes on the damp floor under her table. It consisted of crumpled up jeans, a shirt, panties, a bra, and some sneakers. I couldn’t see under my table, but I guessed my clothes were down there somewhere.

  If only I could get to them…

  As I studied the scene, I saw our captor’s heavily clothed backside as he bent over the woman. His left hand was resting on the girl’s leg and his right hand crisscrossed over her porcelain flesh. As the right hand slid over her body, dark lines were left behind and I realized he was drawing on her flesh with a black permanent marker. I glanced down at my own nude body, but saw nothing of the kind. I did notice that a leather strap with a large buckle was attached to each ankle and those straps were anchored to the end of the table. The straps looked like large dog collars.

  The room we were in was big, probably forty-by-forty. The ceiling was low and the air moist. Other than three dim shop lights hanging from exposed rafters, there were no light sources or windows. In the far shadows of the room, I saw an opening into a dark hallway. From all indications, we were underground, but basements weren’t common in Louisiana. I’d seen a few houses with basements, but they were old houses and the basements were actually built-in tornado shelters.

  I glanced back toward the woman. She was crying softly. Her eyes were squeezed shut. When the man repeated his question, she shook her head from side to side, refusing to open her eyes or her mouth to answer.

  “Damn it, I need to know how you like your meat cooked,” the man said, his voice growing more agitated by the minute.

  My eyes turned to the large man who towered over her table. He appeared angry at her lack of response. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to start cutting off your fingers, one at a time.”

  “I…I don’t know what you want me to say,” the girl finally said, stammering. “I…I don’t know what you’re asking. I
don’t know what you want.”

  The man had long reddish hair and he wore a large burlap shirt and a pair of thick jeans. He sighed heavily, dropped the marker, and reached for his hair. With a smooth motion, he peeled off his headdress and set it on a nearby table. When I caught sight of the silhouette of his face, I gasped loudly. His head jerked around at the sound and he smiled broadly. “Well, look who’s awake.”

  I stared in shock as the suspect turned from Gloria and walked toward me. I had been expecting it to be Rhett Trolley, but to see him alive and in the flesh was a bit disconcerting.

  “Hey, there, little man, how are you?” he asked, as though speaking to a nephew with whom he was truly fond. “I remember you from a long time ago. You came out to the house and spoke with me—you and that older gentleman.” He snapped his fingers. “What was his name again?”

  “You!” I scowled as Trolley stopped near my table and stared down at my nude body. There was a hunger in his eyes that revolted me. I jerked on the straps that bound my wrists, drawing his attention back to my face. “Why are you doing this? You sick piece of shit!”

  “You’re in no position to demand any answers from me, are you?”

  I felt my blood beginning to boil as I realized he was correct—that he had me at a grave disadvantage. I was completely and utterly helpless. Not only could I not save Gloria, but I couldn’t save myself. As I lay there seething, wanting to break from my chains and attack this man who stood gloating over me, I experienced a moment of clarity. Trolley seemed to enjoy being in control—he needed to be in control. If I played my cards right, I might be able to get through to him. Perhaps even talk him out of doing whatever it was he was doing here. I still had no clue what he had planned—or what his motives were—but it couldn’t be good. One thing I knew for sure, he had to believe he was in full control and I had to allow him to think so.

  “No, sir,” I said as meekly as I could muster. “I’m in no position to demand anything at all. I’m only asking with respect.”

  This seemed to catch him by surprise. He hesitated for a second, and then grunted. “I thought you’d be tougher,” he said, stabbing at my ribs with a forefinger. “But I guess you’ll do.”

  I flinched at the touch from his rough finger and he laughed.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” I said softly, trying to keep him talking. “Why are you doing this?”

  He only grunted and turned away from me. He approached the girl again and stood watching as she sobbed silently. “It doesn’t pay to cry,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Now, you’re going to answer my question or I’m going to hurt you. How do you like your meat?”

  I kept wondering at the reason for such a question, but the girl seemed to know better than to answer. She kept shaking her head and refusing to say more than she had already.

  “Very well, I’ll decide.” He lifted the marker and began tracing lines across her pure flesh again, muttering silently to himself as he did so. My mind was racing, wondering what to say to take his mind off of whatever horrible thing he had planned for Gloria—and me.

  “Do you miss your family?” I asked suddenly. “Do you still think about them after all of these years?”

  The marker in Trolley’s hand paused over Gloria’s left breast. He turned slowly to face me again. “Why would you ask something like that?”

  I frowned, turned away as though I was trying to hide my tears. “I’m wondering if it’s weird that I still miss my friend—the older detective who was with me when I first met you. He went missing over fifteen years ago. He was my best friend and like family to me.”

  Trolley’s eyes were suspicious, but he turned from Gloria and took a curious step closer to me. “Of course I miss my family,” he said. “They were the only ones who truly understood me.”

  “Yeah, I miss my friend, too. Look, do you mind me asking what’s going to happen here? What are you planning to do with us?” He hesitated for a long moment, growing suspicious again, so I shook my bound wrists. “It’s not like I can do anything to stop you. You’re clearly in control here. Whatever you say goes. I’m your prisoner. I’m just asking so I can understand what’s going on.”

  “Sure, there’s no harm in telling you.” The wicked grin I’d seen earlier spread across his face again. He shot a thumb toward a dark corner of the room. “You see that?”

  I craned my neck, straining to see the object in the corner. It looked like a large stove, but I couldn’t be positive. There was a hood above it and a flexible pipe disappeared into the ceiling, and I guessed it was some sort of vent. As I brought my eyes back to Trolley, I caught sight of several large metal hooks hanging from the ceiling. I couldn’t be sure, but it appeared there was dried blood on the hooks. My eyes widened and the large man smiled.

  “You realize what’s going on here, don’t you?” He glanced from Gloria to me and nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to eat you—both of you—but I’m going to be nice about it. I’m going to let each of you pick how you want to be cooked.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Melvin leaned out of the front passenger window of Susan’s Tahoe and waved for Dawn to stop behind them. When they had piled out of the vehicles at the beginning of Rhett Trolley’s street and met at the rear of Susan’s Tahoe, Melvin snatched a tire iron from the cargo area and then pointed toward the back of the street.

  “While I was sitting on the ground leaning against the fence of the house where Clint disappeared, I noticed that the disk on the electric meter was turning,” Melvin said, staring from Dawn to Weaver and then to Susan. When they all just stared blankly back at him, he raised his eyebrows. “The house is abandoned! There shouldn’t—”

  “Oh, shit!” Susan spun to face the back of the street where the house was located. “An abandoned house shouldn’t have the electricity turned on.”

  Melvin’s head bobbed up and down. “That’s right. I think they’re inside. I think Clint’s inside that house.”

  Without waiting for another word to be spoken, Weaver lurched forward and drew his pistol. “I’m going in,” he said, “and I don’t care who’s coming with me.”

  Melvin rushed forward to follow Weaver and was nearly knocked over by Dawn and Susan. The three of them caught up to Weaver and then they spread out. Melvin and Susan dipped between two houses to the right and began sprinting through back yards, while Dawn and Weaver raced across the front of the abandoned houses toward the back of the neighborhood. Melvin and Susan had to scale several fences and jump over a large ditch, but they arrived at the perimeter of the target house a few steps behind Weaver and Dawn.

  While Susan holstered her firearm and launched herself over the wrought iron fence, Melvin kept his pistol trained on the target home with his right hand and clutched the tire iron in his left hand. Once she was on the other side and had palmed her pistol again, Melvin took his turn to go over and join her on the other side. They squatted near an old square shed for a brief second before snaking across the weed-ridden yard and pulled up against the back wall of the home. It took Dawn and Weaver a few seconds longer to clear their side of the fence and meet them near the back door.

  Melvin pointed toward the corner of the house. “Should someone go around to the front door?” he asked. “I know it’s boarded up, but maybe we should cover it?”

  Dawn chewed on her bottom lip as she studied the sheet of plywood that covered the back door. “How are they going in and out?” she asked in a low whisper. “It’s nailed securely in place.”

  Melvin watched as Susan tested the edges of the board. It did seem to be secure. He reached out with the tire iron and Susan took it. After shoving the pointed end into the upper right corner, she began prying the board loose, one section at a time. She worked her way down the right side of the board first, around the bottom, and then up the left side.

  While Susan worked on the board, Dawn, Weaver, and Melvin kept their eyes and pistols trained on their surroundings. Melvin’s heart ra
ced as they waited and watched. Sweat poured into his eyes, burning them. He blinked away the sting and wondered what they would find inside this building. Was Clint in there? If so, was he okay? If he wasn’t in the house, where on earth could he be?

  Nails screamed in protest as Susan pried on the last corner of the board. Weaver stepped up to help her break it free. They slowly and quietly lowered it to the concrete. Behind it, there was a faded wooden door with twelve individual panes of stained glass. Susan tested the knob.

  “It’s locked,” she whispered, and waved everyone back. Taking a breath, she chambered her right leg and then delivered a powerful push kick to the door. The stillness of the day was shattered by the crashing sound the door made as it flung violently inward. It slammed into the wall and several panes of glass exploded into tiny shards.

  Before the door had time to swing back, Susan was through the opening. She was followed closely by Dawn and then Weaver. Melvin brought up the rear, and he peeled off to the right as the rest of the group each found a doorway or hallway through which to rush. They flooded in, working silently and swiftly, each of them picking a section of the residence to search. Melvin ended up in a dark utility room that was empty. After jerking out his flashlight and ensuring the room was clear, he turned and rushed to the neighboring room. Not only was it empty, but it was void of any furniture at all.

  Frowning, Melvin hurried out of that room and looked for another room to check. He found a hallway closet, a bathroom, and another room that was much smaller than the first. He tested the light switches in each room, but they weren’t operable.

  “Clear,” Dawn called from the opposite side of the house, her voice echoing loudly in the enclosure.

  “Clear,” Susan called from somewhere to Melvin’s right.